Saints of the Sword

by John Marco

  Timrin agreed. Thankfully, he said nothing more about Kasrin or Nar. He surveyed the hillsides, whispering to himself and counting on his fingers, calculating their many needs. It would be difficult, and they both knew it. They had to pile enough earth and rocks into the water to stop the Fearless, and that meant backbreaking labor. As for the cannons, they would have to be cannibalized from some of the schooners, a risky move since Nicabar would no doubt arrive with escort ships. Kasrin had suspected there might be as many as a dozen ships accompanying them, but if all went well the rest of them would remain around the coast.

  Jelena smiled, remembering Kasrin's voice. How old was he? she wondered. Older than herself, certainly. But she was queen and more mature than most girls. He had been attracted to her, she was sure. He had been clumsy and sweet around her, not at all like his emperor. Biagio was handsome, too, but in a much more frightening way.

  "Jelena?"

  "Huh?" The queen snapped from her daydream and looked at Timrin.

  "What is it?"

  "I asked if we should proceed to Karalon. Didn't you hear me?" "Yes, I heard you," Jelena lied. "Karalon, yes. Proceed." Jelena sat down in the boat. Timrin stared at her, but only for a moment, and when he turned away she saw the hint of a smile on his face. Now she really was acting like a child. She sank her head into her hands. Sometimes this was all too much for her. Living up to expectations had become her bitter burden.

  I'm nineteen, she reminded herself. Not such a child, really.

  Yet sometimes she longed for childish things. She wanted to run through a field or eat pastries until she was sick, or have a doll collection again. She didn't want to go back to her palace on Haran Island, either.

  When this was all over and the Fearless was destroyed, she wanted to be a little girl again.

  Please, just forget about me, she thought. If they would all just forget me, then I would be free.

  Not far ahead, the island of Karalon awaited her arrival. She would be there in less than an hour, tramping through its swamps and getting eaten by mosquitoes. From there she and Timrin and the others would make their base and wait for the Fearless. Already there were men and women on Karalon ready to help them. It would be an exhausting project, but they would work their hearts out because they were young and devoted to the cause. Everyone on Liss was young now because everyone older was dead. Like her parents.

  Without asking permission, Timrin sat down beside Jelena in the jarl. He waited a long time before speaking, watching the cliffs pass with feigned interest.

  "You are troubled," he said softly. "Because of what I said?"

  "Not really."

  "But you are troubled."

  "A little, perhaps."

  "You are queen," Timrin said. "I was wrong to question you. Especially in front of the others."

  "I am queen," repeated Jelena. "Sad, but true."

  "Don't say that. You are a fine queen. You always have been. And if this plan of yours goes well . . ."

  "You say if," Jelena reminded him. "Maybe you are right to doubt me."

  "Men may have their doubts, but it is results that matter. So far you've taken Crote and held the waters all around the Empire. You are a remarkable queen, my lady. Someday you will be a legend."

  Jelena laughed. "Oh, that would be something, wouldn't it? There could be a statue of me. Perhaps holding up the world, yes?"

  "I'm serious," said Timrin. "You need to know that you are a good ruler."

  "Thank you, Timrin. I will try to remember that."

  "And don't fret too much. Your plan is sound. We will get the cannons in place, and the blockade of rocks into the river. We'll stop the Fearless."

  As the jarl took her slowly toward Karalon, Jelena thought about Kasrin again, and about their scheme. For a moment she considered the idea that Kasrin might betray them. But Jelena couldn't believe that. For once, she had to believe in something other than herself. Too many responsibilities teetered on her young shoulders. Somewhere, somehow, there had to be another person to help bear her burdens. Suddenly, that was the most important thing in the world to her. She had faith in Blair Kasrin because if she didn't, she would collapse under the strain.

  TWENTY-TWO

  For Biagio, employing the awful bunk aboard the Dra-Raike was like sleeping on a bed of nails. The Lissen schooner was a dreadfully small ship, single-masted with barely five feet of draft, yet somehow capable of enduring the most stomach-churning waves. There was no galley on board, just a cooking stove near the stores below deck, and there was only one real cabin, a tiny chamber that Biagio shared with Commander Golo. For the length of their long voyage to the Highlands, Biagio slept on a wooden cot crammed into the cabin, with hardly an inch of straw mattress to cushion his body. He had eaten the same food as the crew and listened to their wretched songs, and he endured the stares and questions of men who remembered him as nothing but their enemy. And the worst part of all was that he had brought this on himself--he had actually asked for a Lissen ship.

  It had been weeks since they had sailed from Crote. The emperor had said good-bye to his island home with real melancholy knowing he might never see it again. Liss would keep Crote as part of the bargain, and Biagio had been checkmated by Jelena. It was the price of peace; that's what he kept telling himself. Yet each time he suffered a bout of seasickness he wondered if he had struck a sucker's deal. Days at sea had turned his golden skin an unhealthy green and he was losing weight alarmingly fast, unable to keep his food down. His nerves were stretched taut and his dreams were all nightmares about dragons and sea serpents and, occasionally, Nicabar. So far they hadn't encountered a single Naren warship, and that put Biagio at ease. Commander Golo had charted a long course to the Highlands, swinging far away from Casarhoon and brushing close to Liss. But that didn't mean they would remain undetected. As they neared the shores of the Empire, that risk increased exponentially.

  So when they finally reached the Eastern Highlands, Biagio was relieved for a multitude of reasons. He waited above deck as the Dra-Raike slipped closer to shore, easing toward the imperial coast. Commander Golo was with Biagio on deck. Moonlight lit the inlet, and the night was blessedly quiet. Darkness obscured much of the bank. By squinting, Biagio could see the rugged outline of the Eastern Highlands, fretted with mountains and pine thickets. Somewhere in that green tangle was the village of Stoneshire. Due north, if his coordinates were correct.

  "You're sure this is it?" Commander Golo asked. "Looks awfully deserted to me."

  "This is it," replied Biagio. "If your navigator knows what he's doing."

  "Then this is it," said Golo with a smile.

  Biagio took his travel pack, lifting it from the deck and slinging it over his shoulder. According to Malthrak and Donhedris, it was a day's walk from here to Stoneshire. The emperor had dressed for the trek, sporting a long coat and knee-high boots and the stubble of his golden beard. His hair was filthy because he hadn't bathed in weeks, and he supposed he looked appropriately trampish. No one in these parts would recognize him, he was sure.

  "You're ready, then?" Golo asked.

  Biagio nodded. Golo's crew were preparing the launch to take him ashore, dropping the tiny rowboat over the side and waiting for their passenger.

  "Just walk north," said Golo. He pointed. "That way."

  "Thanks," said Biagio dryly, "but I know which way north is."

  "Just making sure. Don't be surprised if your legs are a little wobbly at first. That's normal after a long voyage."

  Biagio nodded impatiently. "Right."

  "If you get lost . . ."

  "I won't get lost! Sweet Almighty, I'm just going to walk due north!"

  "If you do get lost," continued Golo, "just keep walking until you find someone. They should be able to steer you toward Stoneshire."

  It was obvious advice, but Biagio accepted it. Golo had been a decent man, and that had made the journey a bit more bearable.

  "Thank you," said Biagio. "I am grateful for you
r help. But now you must leave. As soon as your men return from bringing me ashore, set sail for Liss and don't look back. Queen Jelena will have need of you very soon."

  "Don't worry," promised Golo. "We're going to run like the wind just as soon as you're gone." The Lissen began laughing. "I've never had a royal passenger on board before. Funny that my first should be a Naren."

  "This is an era of firsts, Commander." Biagio put out his hand. "Take care of yourself."

  Commander Golo took Biagio's hand. "Good luck, Emperor."

  Biagio went to the launch dangling over the side of the vessel. With some help from the Lissen crew, he climbed aboard. Four Lissen sailors were already in the craft waiting for him. When he was finally settled and had tucked his travel bag under his arm, Commander Golo gave the order and watched the rowboat dip into the sea.

  The craft hit the water with a bone-jarring splash. Biagio held fast to the edge of the boat, careful not to go overboard, then settled back as the men took up the oars and started rowing. There was no beach, only an imposing fence of toothy rocks jutting from the sea. Biagio peered at the looming horizon. The Eastern Highlands were remarkably vast and its people rugged, like their land. They didn't take well to Naren lords.

  When the boat neared the shore, the sailors brought it to a skidding halt beside a range of jagged rocks. One of the sailors racked his oar and turned to the emperor.

  "This is as close as we can get you," he said. "You'll have to wade ashore from here."

  Biagio considered the distance. It was only a few yards to the land, but he had a cat's aversion to cold water. Still, he hoisted the pack around his shoulders and without hesitation splashed into the foam. Instantly he sank up to his thighs. Thankfully, no one in the rowboat laughed.

  "Get back to the ship," Biagio ordered. "Thank Golo for me. And thanks to all of you."

  The Lissens gave their nemesis a round of circumspect smiles. Then they dipped their oars into the water and shoved off. As they retreated back into the murkiness, the awesome silence of the Highlands settled over Biagio. He glanced around at secretive pines and endless rolling hills, and for the first time in weeks realized he was truly alone.

  "Courage, Renato," he whispered. "You can do this."

  Avoiding the rocks, he waded ashore with his heavy pack, his legs pumping through the water. His head swam at the sensation of stable ground. The muscles in his legs trembled, and he found that he couldn't turn his head without turning his whole body first. Nauseous, he climbed up the rocks, then fell to the mossy earth and vomited.

  Biagio slept, deeply and dreamlessly. And when he finally awakened, the first thing he saw was a carpet of milky stars. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was still evening, and he didn't know how long he had slept or how close it was till morning. But his head was clearer and his pants had dried, and the awful sloshing in his skull had settled to a dull throbbing.

  Next to him sat his pack. The lap of the sea, the rustle of branches, the inscrutable call of night birds; all put Biagio at ease.

  "Cold," he remarked. He rubbed his legs with his palms. "And hungry."

  He needed food. But first he needed proper shelter, and a fire to keep away animals. That was right, wasn't it? Not being a woodsman, Biagio wasn't certain, though he imagined that a fire would deter bears and boars and such. He glanced around for suitable shelter, finding some beneath the shelf of a cliff, something like a tiny cave that had been dug out by a giant thumb. It was overgrown with the notorious Highland greenery and hidden from unwanted eyes. Biagio cleared away the worst of the twigs and debris, making himself at home beneath the hood of rock. Then he began rummaging through his pack. First he dug out a piece of flint to make a fire. After a twenty-minute struggle, he finally had a small blaze going. He put his hands up to the fire. Starting a fire without a servant was something he'd never done before, and the sense of accomplishment felt strange. When he was sure his fire wouldn't wither, he settled down again and found food in his pack, more of the Lissen hardtack he so despised. But there was some cheese in the pack, and some strips of dried beef without any smell at all. Biagio sniffed the meat suspiciously. Good for long travels, he supposed. One taste told him why. It was stale and salty, like it had been desiccated a thousand years ago to accompany some dead king to the netherworld. Disgusted, Biagio sampled the cheese instead. To his delight it was better than the beef, pungent and surprisingly fresh, like the cheeses of Crote.

  "Wine," he remarked with a grin. "That's all I need and I could have a feast."

  He was a long way from his wine cellars, though, and Jelena had probably sold all his vintages anyway. So he satisfied himself with the cheese, eating it slowly, and studied the stars blanketing the world. Back in Nar City, only the brightest stars struggled through the haze. Not so here in the Highlands. The sky was ripe with them, like a berry bush exploding with fruit. The air was fresher too, clean and full of evergreen. Biagio sucked in a deep lung-full.

  Better than wine, he decided.

  After he had eaten his fill and warmed himself by the fire, Biagio felt the pull of exhaustion again. Knowing that he had a long hike ahead of him in the morning, he decided to sleep until dawn. According to Malthrak, who had helped him plan this excursion, Stoneshire was miles away. He would need the whole day to reach it, and he didn't relish the thought of another night in the wilderness. He only hoped that the shire had comfortable beds, and that his contact would be there waiting for him.

  Biagio awoke the next morning refreshed. Just as the sun began its ascent, he pointed himself north and headed for Stoneshire. There was no road to follow and no clear path through the woods. With only the shoreline to guide him, Biagio kept close to the water, letting the rocky beach lead him toward the village. Malthrak had been very thorough in his directions. The little Roshann agent had told his master to follow the shore until he saw two twin blue mountains in the west, joined by a natural bridge of stone. It was the only one like it, Malthrak had promised, and it would be unmistakable. From there he would head west and pick up the road to Stoneshire. The directions were difficult for Biagio, who was accustomed to having a driver take him everywhere. But this time he was on his own, and in an odd way he wanted to prove something to himself. His father had never thought him anything but a fop, and even Arkus had doubted his skills at manhood. Biagio could still hear the old emperor laughing every time he complained about the cold. It was very cold in the Highlands today.

  Biagio walked and walked, and when he was nearly exhausted he walked even farther, ignoring the burning in his legs. For the first four hours he made remarkable time, covering miles despite the rolling landscape and rocky meandering shoreline. As he walked he kept one eye westward, waiting for the mountains to part and reveal their strange, connected brothers. Soon the noonday sun fell on his head, warming him with its touch. Wildflowers reached skyward and gulls flew overhead. His feet aching, Biagio stopped for a moment by the sea, resting on a rock and pulling off his boots. Red blotches spoiled his otherwise perfect feet. He massaged them, groaning with pleasure at his own touch. In Nar City there has been slaves to massage him, beautiful men and women with sculpted muscles and hands like silk. Biagio closed his eyes, pretending he could smell the scented oils and warm, perfumed bodies. But then he opened his eyes, scolding himself for falling into such reverie.

  "Work to do," he said. With a final swig from his water skin, he took up his gear and started off again. All around him, the land was growing gentler, flattening out into hills instead of mountains and revealing great open spaces in the gaps between the tors. Biagio smiled. For all its harshness, this was a beautiful land. It reminded him of Aramoor and parts of Talistan. It wasn't as lovely as Crote, of course, but a man could do worse for himself. No wonder Prince Redburn never strayed.

  Finally, Biagio came to the place Malthrak had told him about. On the western horizon, the hill abruptly flattened and fell away revealing two remarkable mountains in the distance, blue and white and possessed of a
strange natural light that reflected the sun as though sapphires suffused their slopes. Most telling of all was the stout bridge connecting them, a curious creation of time and weather. Biagio stopped walking and stared.

  "I made it," he said wearily. Then he laughed. "Goddamn it, I made it!"

  On the outskirts of the village, Biagio found a road that took him directly into Stoneshire. The shire lay in the shadows of the blue mountains, tucked neatly into its folds and surrounded by green hills and pastures full of livestock. At last there were people again, riding by on horses or carts, busy with the commerce of their village. Biagio was heartened to see human faces. They were the ruddy faces of Highlanders, rosy-cheeked and set with smiles, and each man or woman that Biagio passed had a curious stare for him and a polite tip of their woolen hats. Biagio returned the greetings cordially. Ahead lay Stoneshire, meager in size yet vital, full of squat wooden structures and brick walls. According to Malthrak, the village was part of Redburn's territory, though the prince himself was miles away. Puffs of smoke rose from the village's stone chimneys and children played with dogs in the streets. They all wore the plaid woolen clothing favored by Redburn's clan, looking handsome in their colorful garb. As Biagio entered the village, children stopped to stare at him. The emperor politely ignored them. He was beyond exhausted and the sun was going down. Homesteads dotted the hills around the village. Biagio needed a room quickly, before he collapsed. He decided to chance a conversation with the children.

  "You there," he called to a group of boys and their terrier. He used a finger to summon them. "I need some assistance."

  The boys looked at Biagio uncertainly.

  "I am a stranger here," said Biagio. "I am looking for an inn run by a woman named Estrella. Do you know the place?"

  "Yes," replied one of the group. He took a step closer to Biagio, studying his worn-out clothes and peculiar golden skin. "Who are you?"